


as though they had become entangled

by amells (aeviternal)



Series: as if i had a string somewhere under my left ribs [9]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, Training, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeviternal/pseuds/amells
Summary: With the threat of the Trappers looming, Adam suggests that Detective Lovelace once again try her hand at combat training.It... would be a lie to say that it goes well.
Relationships: Detective/Adam du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Series: as if i had a string somewhere under my left ribs [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917049
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	as though they had become entangled

**Author's Note:**

> i am returned. also, i haven't written _anything_ in like, over a month, probably closer actually to two months, so no one laugh @ this 🅱️lease

“Again.”

_Thwack._

“Again.”

_Thwack._

“Again.”

_Thwack._

“Aga—”

“Adam, I swear to _god,_ if you say ‘again’ one more _fucking_ time, I’m gonna rip this bag off its chain and cram it _so far_ up your _stupid_ vampire _a—”_

“Threats will not help you improve, Detective. Nor will anger.”

“Yeah, maybe not, but they sure help me feel better.”

Adam shoots her an unamused look from the other side of the punching bag.

 _“God,”_ June pants, sweeping hair off her sweaty forehead and out of her eyes. “Y’know, you could at least _pretend_ like this is hard for you. Break a sweat, maybe? Look tired? Be encouraging in literally _any_ way?”

“I _am_ encouraging you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Totally. You’re _real_ good at it.”

“Thank you,” he says, in what’s probably _supposed_ to be the nicest tone he can manage. Which, y’know, coming from _Broody Mcbrooderson_ himself is about as _nice_ as a hole in the goddamn head. “Now. _Again.”_

“Okay, seriously—”

“Detective.”

_“Fine!”_

June huffs, raises her fists, rolls her shoulders, and punches. _Again._

“Ag—”

“I know!”

The bag’s hard and unyielding under her knuckles, the same exact way it’s been hard and unyielding literally _every time before,_ and she feels the punch all the way up her arm. 

Seriously, she does _not_ remember punching being this complicated. The self-defense course she took in freshman year of college made this shit seem, like, _super_ simple. Find something you wanna punch. Punch it. Awesome. That’s a gold star for _you,_ congrats!

She groans, rubbing her aching bicep with her opposite hand. “Okay, I’m never gonna get this, can we just—”

Adam sighs. “You must _learn,_ Detective.”

“I _know,_ but _seriously,_ man, we’ve been at this for _hours,_ I’m— you have super vampire senses! You’re, like, _literally_ a bloodhound, you can _smell_ how much I’m sweating, and my _arms ache,_ okay, I’m not _built_ for this shit.”

For one beautiful, shining moment, it genuinely looks like she’s won; Adam steps back and lets go of the bag, which swings slightly like it’s just as relieved as she is, and then he’s standing beside her, nudging her ankle with his shoe.

“You have to spread your legs.”

And then June’s choking on air (or, y’know, maybe the heart that’s launched itself halfway up her fucking espophagus) and trying very, _very_ hard not to think of all the _many_ ways she’s imagined him saying that _exact_ sentence. 

“E— _excuse_ me?”

“You—” Adam clears his throat, shifting on his feet. Is he— blushing? Can vampires _blush?_ “Your weight is improperly distributed.”

June swallows, voice cracking just the way she wishes the _earth_ would under her feet right about now. “Right. Right, yeah— no, totally, dude. My weight. Makes— ahem, makes sense. Um. What do I…?”

“Yes. Ah. You… well, your legs— your _feet,_ I mean, ought to be shoulder-width apart.”

“Shoulder-width,” she repeats, moving into position and trying to get her mind out of the _goddamn_ gutter. 

Like, _so far_ out of the gutter. She’s in _space,_ she can’t even _see_ the gutter. The gutter does not _exist,_ it is _Schrödinger's gutter._

“Like this?”

“Yes. Like that.”

June nods, licking her suddenly-dry lips. “Cool. Awesome. Uh— and then?”

“Move one foot forward. Raise your hands again— no, above your chin. Tuck in your elbows. And— swing.”

“Mother- ** _fucker!”_ **

“June!”

“Motherfucking— _cocksucking,_ piece of shit mother of _balls!”_

“June—”

“That really fucking hurt. Oh my _god,_ ” June swears again, clutching her throbbing right hand close to her chest and blinking away tears. “That hurt _so much,_ what the _fuck—”_

“June, let me _see!”_

“No, _fuck you!”_ she shrieks, “get me some _ice,_ oh my _god.”_

“Come to the kitchen. The light is better.”

“The _light?!”_

“So we can see,” Adam snaps. “Come.”

And it’s a testament to how much her fucking hand is _literally killing her_ that she doesn’t even _think_ about _that_ particular command in any other context.

* * *

It still hurts five minutes later, with frozen peas melting across her knuckles and dripping ice water down her wrist. Adam had blurred over to the freezer the moment they’d stepped into the room and grabbed what was probably the first thing he saw before passing it over to her, and she’s grateful for it now, her skin starting to go a little numb.

June prods at the peas experimentally— then hisses. “Fuck.”

“Do not do that,” Adam swoops in, his brows furrowed in— concern?

Well, she _thinks_ it’s concern. But Adam spends, like, the _grand total_ of his life either scowling or frowning, so who knows? This _looks_ like Scowl Number Four (worry), but then Scowl Number Four doesn’t look all that different from Scowl Numbers One through Three (annoyed, _really_ annoyed, and brooding, respectively), none of which are far off from his It's A Day That Ends In 'Y' grimace.

She had a point in there, somewhere.

“It hurts,” she bitches.

Adam sighs. “I understand. I am— sorry.”

And he really does look it, too, so she sighs and relents.

“Well. On the bright side, guess this means no more combat training for me.”

She tries not to seem _too_ happy about this. From the look on his face, she doesn’t do so well.

“I fail to see how _that_ is true.”

June looks at her hand pointedly. “Dude, I’m a _disaster.”_

“You are not,” Adam says, scowl deepening. “Do not speak about yourself in such a manner.”

And that’s— woah. That really shouldn’t— why did that make her chest feel all weird? _Ew._

“You are the most capable human being that I know of,” he continues, like nothing’s just happened. “This is— a minor setback. Once it has healed, we will start again.”

Her chest is still doing that thing. It’s so gross, _oh my god,_ she wants to die.

“Shut up,” she mutters, for lack of anything else to say. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you think all humans are useless.”

“Not _all_ humans,” he corrects, meeting her eyes.

God, she hates his fucking eyes. Things would be so much _fucking_ easier if his eyes weren’t so— just— _ugh!_

June shifts on her chair, wincing slightly when she jostles her hand, and looks around for something — _literally anything_ — else to talk about.

“Why do you even _have_ frozen peas? You’re _vampires,_ you don’t even _eat._ Do you just keep them around to, like, angstily _remind_ you that you can’t eat anymore? Do you stare at them longingly and heartbrokenly? _Frozen peas,_ Adam? That is the _saddest_ thing I've literally ever heard.”

He rolls his eyes surprisingly good-naturedly, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms across his broad— _really broad_ chest. It’s like a fucking barrel. Or a tree trunk. _Don’t stare at his shoulders, June, fucking hell, don’t stare, don’t stare— Jesus, they're nice._

“Nate _does_ eat, you’ll recall.”

June opens her mouth— then shuts it. “Oh. That makes sense. Shit.”

Adam’s lips twitch. Maybe. She thinks they did. _Score!_

“Besides,” he adds, glancing away, “you are here often enough, and you— you eat as well.”

She blinks. “You guys bought groceries for me?”

“And Nate,” Adam corrects very firmly before she can get too carried away imagining Unit Bravo in Super Mart, Farah piling junk food into a cart Adam pushes while Morgan complains and Nate looks for something probably fancy and expensive, like— like artisanal bread, or something. Is that a thing?

“Right,” she agrees, clearing her throat and trying not to think about the fact that that _thing_ in her chest is getting bigger. “And Nate.”

Silence falls between them again, and she twitches her fingers tentatively, ‘cause she doesn’t know what else to do. Only that was _stupid,_ June, _ouch,_ and she’s wincing before she can stop herself.

“Are they—” He hesitates. “Does it help?”

“The peas?”

“Yes.”

“I— yeah.” She shrugs with one shoulder. “I mean, it still hurts like a _bitch,_ but it hurts like— like a smaller bitch?”

Something flickers behind his eyes, but he doesn’t smile. “Is— what would you have me do?”

“Um.” She clears her throat. “Distract me. Talk.”

Adam frowns. Yeah; she’s, like, ninety per cent sure that’s worry.

“About what?”

“Dude, I don’t know. Something. Anything. Talk to me about the _Magna Carta,_ for all I care.”

He raises a brow. “Well. I _believe_ it was drafted in—”

“Oh my god, not _literally.”_

He sighs. “If you wish to speak of history, perhaps Nate would be the better option.”

“Did you just, like, literally not pay attention to _anything_ for nine hundred years?”

“I had more important things to think of.”

“Okay, well, _first of all,_ the Agency isn’t the be-all and end-all of the _world,_ and I really think it’s important that you know that. Just, for your life. Like, the world exists.”

“I am well aware of that fact.”

 _“Second of all—”_ she continues, glaring at him, “we really need to fill you in on everything you’ve missed. And I’m _seriously begging you_ to let me start you with Star Wars.”

“How is a motion picture set — I believe — in space going to ‘fill me in’?”

“Okay, seriously, don’t ever talk shit about Star Wars ever again in my presence, or I’ll literally end you. But it’s— it’s like the _timeless_ story. Hero goes on a long journey, rediscovers his family _and_ makes a new one, chooses to change in what’s, like, _basically_ a metaphor for generational trauma, good triumphs over evil, the end.”

Adam’s lips purse. “Well, now I have no need to watch it. You have told me.”

“No! Dude, there’s like, _so much_ more than that! That was the SparkNotes version, you _have got_ to watch the real thing. There are blaster pistols! And lasers! And lightsabers! And it had _such_ an effect on popular culture, like— it’s legendary!”

He doesn’t look convinced.

She can’t decide if it’s a _good_ thing that someone so hot is so annoying, or if it’s, like, the saddest thing ever. Like, on the one hand, _thank God,_ because it’s already _literally so embarrassing_ that she’s so obviously and blatantly in love with him that even the Captain’s apparently heard about it — yeah, seriously, _that_ conversation sucked — but on the other—

It’s _such_ a waste.

“I’m making you watch it.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“I will do _just_ that thing. Farah would probably love it, too, ‘cause she has _taste,_ unlike _some_ people around here." 

Adam’s lips twitch. “If I agree to _consider_ watching it, will you let this go?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yeah. _Maybe.”_

“Alright. I will consider it.”

“Thank you.”

He nods graciously. Then: “How does your hand feel?”

“Sore. But numb, too. I think that’s the peas.”

Adam _hmms_ thoughtfully, brows knitting together again as he approaches. Gently — _so_ gently, like he’s handling a bomb, or maybe something super precious and fragile — he eases her hand off of the kitchen island and into his, peeling the peas away and bringing her knuckles to his eye-level.

“I believe it is only bruised,” he concludes a moment later, rubbing a soothing line over the back of her hand with his thumb when she hisses.

Her heart does something stupid and acrobatic. Like, _parkour_ levels of jumping around, seriously. It’s disgusting.

“O—” she clears her throat, “okay.”

He tilts her wrist. “It is swollen, but I— it does not appear to be broken, I do not think.”

His fingertips are curled into her palm. _It’s like we’re holding hands,_ she thinks from very far away. It’s— it’s nice. _Really_ nice, actually. It reminds her of that night at the carnival, his hand in hers, the whole sky lit up by those fireworks. That was nice, too.

His eyes leave her knuckles quickly, like he’s only planning on glancing at her, but then their gazes lock and— and he’s just staring at her.

He really does just have the best eyes. It’s _the worst._ They’re just— 

Y’know, June always wanted green eyes when she was a kid. Her eyes are just so, like, dark. Plain. No one ever wrote poems about _brown_ eyes. It was always blue, y’know, or green. And she has red hair, so she always thought— yeah, green would be best.

Green _is_ best. His eyes are a paler green than she was imagining for herself, more jade than emerald, but they’re _beautiful._ Not as guarded this close up. His pupils are dark, a little blown, so she can’t see as much of his iris as usual, but they’re still— yeah. They’re really nice.

He clears his throat, and, oh, yeah, he’s— ha, he’s _super close to her,_ she can see _every single one_ of his lashes, and for a second she wonders how far she’d have to lean to just _fall_ into his chest or maybe his arms or some combination of the two, and then she remembers— _oh yeah!_

 _That’s a super fucking terrible idea._

Like, on the scale of bad ideas, with one being ‘donating your super special secret supernatural blood to a blood drive’ and ten being ‘biting the actual bonafide vampire keeping you prisoner with your _actual_ human teeth’, it’s _definitely_ a ‘get your stupid heart broken by a 900-year-old sack of brooding and angst and muscles who genuinely doesn’t want you _even a little bit’._

But it’s like, _really_ hard to remember that when his hand is so gentle on hers and he’s looking down at her like that, like— like she’s _something,_ like maybe he _could_ want her if he tried, or maybe like he _does_ want her already, like he thinks about her just as much as she thinks about him, like being this close to her is killing him, fucking up his chest and his lungs and his heart like it is her.

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“Are you alright?” he whispers.

“Y— yeah. I’m— awesome, totally.”

He nods at that. Just once. His thumb skitters over the back of her hand then, once, twice, a third—

“Ouch!”

“Did I— I hurt you.”

“It’s fine, you just knocked my knuckles a little, don’t worry—”

Adam shakes his head, clears his throat. _Releases her hand._

“I am— my sincerest and utmost apologies, Detective.”

“Adam, I’m fine—”

He pulls away. “I ought to clean up the training area. We— we are done for the day, Detective Lovelace. Please keep the cold compress on your hand for a while longer, I—”

“Adam—”

“I will see you later.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always im on tumblr over [@solasan](https://solasan.tumblr.com/) if u want to talk 2 me abt how fucking STUPID adam du mortain is


End file.
